


Love is a Gift

by Hopeful_Romantic



Category: Legend of the Seeker
Genre: Adult Content, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-06-07
Packaged: 2017-11-07 03:28:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 20
Words: 15,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/426438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hopeful_Romantic/pseuds/Hopeful_Romantic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twenty ficlits written for the legendland big-bang challenge in the theme of "Mother Confessors," and using a given prompt for each. Rated M over-all but ratings vary and are posted for each story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Love is a Gift  
 **Rating:** PG; rated for general concepts

 

 **Theme:** Mother Confessors  
 **Genre:** General/Drama  
 **Characters:** Magda Searus, Wizard Merrit (bookverse characters)  
 **Timeline/Spoilers:** About 3,000 years before series

 **Prompt:** Gift  
 **Word Count:** 650

 **Author's Notes:** Okay, so this is just my twist on how the creation of the first Mother Confessor might have gone from her point of view. I've basically taken the bookverse characters (their names and bare-bones history) and placed them in the world of the series. The rite and words are of my creation (just in case you were saying _hey I don't recognize that_ *grin*)

  


* * *

I shook, as if with an ague, and felt the light fabric of my gown stick almost painfully to my back. I bit my tongue to keep from screaming out, and tasted blood, my own coppery sweet blood, fill my mouth. But instead of spitting it out, I swallowed, grounding myself to life with taste and feel of it.

“ _Mitha, mitha tathus tathua..._ ”

I felt, more than heard, the painful words as they washed over me, and into me, and through me.

“ _Mitha yuthia... Magda..._ ”

I sensed Merrit faltering, and forced myself to look up, to meet his blue eyes with my own darkened ones.

“Don't stop,” I hissed, breathing through the pain. “You can't stop. Don't stop,” I commanded, never doubting that the wizard would follow the order, and knowing that I wouldn't have to tell him again.

Merrit nodded, swallowed; his eyes pleading for forgiveness even as he continued to chant. “ _Mitha yuthia, Magda. Luthian marrowiai iaemoana, Magda..._ ”

I bit back another aching scream, breathing through it. I would never have dreamed, could never have imagined, that the power of love would sear me so. It was like an unquenchable fire consuming me from the inside out, and it was like nothing I had ever known before.

I had always thought that I understood love; had always thought that I had felt a love as deep as any a woman could ever know. I had felt it, and I had given it. And when I had found my husband dead, fallen from the highest tower, I had felt it like the deepest wound.

It was only now, in this moment, that I realized that that had all been as nothing to this.

“ _Uthyia kiuononia... Magda, Magda, Magda..._ ”

I rocked in time to the sound of my name, feeling it like a second heartbeat.

“ _Mitha uthyia luthian yuthia...Magda, Magda, Magda..._ ”

The heartbeat pulsed somewhere high in my throat and I thought of everyone fallen in battle, friends gone, but not forgotten.

“ _Nythis nythia infai... Magda, Magda, Magda..._ ”

The phantom beat fell low into my belly and I ached to hold an infant in my arms.

“ _Yuthia mitha uthyai... Magda, Magda, Magda..._ ”

The second heartbeat pulsed higher, and I longed to see sisters and brothers I had never had.

“ _Kiynoai reymi mi'toth... Magda, Magda, Magda..._ ”

That strange second heartbeat ached in my lowest secret places, and I felt a need for Baraccus such as I had never known before. I moaned, the sound ripping from deep in my throat as I curled in around myself.

“ _Jiygi lithorina kynia mitha mithrusa... Magda, Magda, Magda..._ ”

The words pushed into me with a violence that tore and scratched at my soul, tearing it to shreds even as it remade me into something wholly new; something less, and something infinitely more. The phantom heartbeat settled over my left breast and everything lost all meaning but the feel of it rocking my whole body.

I screamed.

“ _Mith mitha mithrus... Magda, Magda, Magda_ ,” Merrit bellowed before scrambling to where I lay.

“Magda... oh Magda, answer me. Please, please, please...”

The wizard gathered me in his arms and I felt him rocking me like a child.

“Oh Magda, I'm so sorry. Please... please tell me that it's a gift. Tell me that it's something wonderful... please... please tell me that it is a wondrous gift...”

“It...” I whispered weakly, feeling my gown chill me to the bone as the sweat dried slowly, though I was still feverish where Merrit pressed me to him. “It was necessary...”

I took a deep breath, trying to control my shaking.

“It was necessary...” I assured the wizard, because it may _have_ been a Gift that he had just given me, but I had nothing left to give him in return... I was a Confessor...


	2. Catch Me

**Title:** Catch Me  
 **Rating:** PG-15; rated for adult concepts  
  
  
 **Theme:** Mother Confessors  
 **Genre:** Fluff/Romance  
 **Characters:** Magda Searus/Wizard Merrit (bookverse characters)  
 **Timeline/Spoilers:** About 3,000 years before series  
  
 **Prompt:** Tease  
 **Word Count:** 697  
  
 **Author's Notes:** Again, I took bookverse characters and transplanted them into the world of the series. But, to be honest the only real things that I "know" about Merrit and Magda are that they were married and are the predecessors of Richard and Kahlan, in that she could not Confess him for the same reasons Kahlan doesn't Confess Richard. Again, the names of things (like _sumisa'ai_ bushes and Merrit's spells) are my own nonsense words.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
“Magda...” Merrit called. “Magda, where are you? Magda?”  
  
The wizard heard her light laugh from the silver-green _sumisa'ai_ bushes.  
  
“Magda...”   
  
“Come catch me...” the Mother Confessor called playfully. “Come find me Merrit...”  
  
Merrit shook his head a little with fond exasperation and moved in the direction of his wife's voice.   
  
“Don't you think we're a little too old to be playing seek and find?” He asked as he circled blindly, his eyes roving over the verdant growth that surrounded him. “Magda...”   
  
“You're never too old to have fun, husband mine,” she called again from some hidden place within the bushes.   
  
“Magda, we're not exactly children anymore...” he half-chided, half-protested.   
  
“We're not exactly gray haired or long in the tooth either,” her voice taunted, drifting to him in the soft spring breeze.   
  
Merrit sighed before beginning to chant softly. “ _Fu mai katha..._ ” he murmured, moving in the direction the spell guided him. He sighed again when he found his wife's simple leather boots propped unobtrusively against a weeping pine.  
  
“Clever woman,” he whispered underneath his breath and gathered up the boots.  
  
“Spells are cheating,” the Confessor chanted from a safe distance before laughing lightly. “No cheating, Merrit...”   
  
He smiled thoughtfully.   
  
“ _Fu mai katha..._ ” he chanted once more and again followed the tugging of the spell. He smiled when he found the white Mother Confessor's dress hanging innocently from the branches of several swaying _sumisa'ai_ bushes. Merrit smoothed his hand over the soft, well-worn fabric before he gathered up the dress too so that he could carry it in his arms with her boots.   
  
“Still haven't found me,” he heard Magda's cheerful taunt.   
  
The wizard looked about himself once more, seeing only green spring beauty and nothing of his wife's.  
  
“Come find me...” the Mother Confessor called in a sing-song voice that drifted tantalizingly on the breeze. “Catch me, Merrit.”  
  
“ _Fu mai katha..._ ” he chanted once more, and again followed the tugging of the spell. He smiled in anticipation, and was not disappointed to discover Magda's dark corset tangled in the briars of a wild rose, its ties fluttering in the breeze.   
  
“Maybe this isn't such a bad game after all,” his laughed under his breath. He carefully untangled the corset from the rose plant. “ _Fu mai katha..._ ” he again intoned, the fingers of one hand playing unconsciously with the loose ties of the corset cradled in his arms.   
  
“I told you no cheating, wizard,” Magda admonished quietly, even as Merrit followed his spell to her last articles of clothing bundled neatly beneath another weeping pine. He felt the cool edge of her blade against his throat as she stepped up behind him.   
  
“Magda,” he protested with a small laugh, feeling metal slide gently on his skin as he did so.   
  
“Drop the clothes, Merrit,” she commanded. “Now...” she drawled once he had done so. “I think we should bind your hands.”  
  
The Mother Confessor slid around her husband and smiled. He couldn't help but smile in return, seeing her gloriously and unabashedly naked. He held out his hands and she laughed.   
  
“Merrit...”   
  
“Of course, I could always...” he drawled. “Promise to not cheat again...”  
  
Magda reached up and removed the tie from her hair. It fell in loose waves and curls around her shoulders as she shook her head. She stepped forward and bound the wizard's hands.  
  
“Or...” she countered, making certain to brush her naked skin against his now decidedly less than mobile fingers. “We could make certain...” she added, knowing that the moment she ran, Merrit would work on freeing himself. “That you don't.”  
  
She stepped back and shrugged beautifully, pleased as her husband watched her with avid eyes.   
  
“Unless you still think we're far too old for seek and find,” Magda suggested with innocent eyes and a tilt of her head.  
  
Merrit smiled.  
  
“No...” he replied. “No, I think we may be just old enough...”  
  
The Mother Confessor laughed lightly and dashed into the surrounding greenery.  
  
“Come catch me...”


	3. There Will Be Blood

**Title:** There Will Be Blood  
 **Rating:** PG-15; rated for violence

 

 **Theme:** Mother Confessors  
 **Genre:** General/Drama  
 **Characters:** Magda Searus (Bookverse character)  
 **Timeline/Spoilers:** About 3,000 years before the series

 **Prompt:** Blood  
 **Word Count:** 631

 **Author's Notes:** Magda is the first Confessor according to the novels, the series doesn't name one (that I know of) so I simply put Magda in the world of the series. And now, since Magda was the first, she must have experienced the first Con Dar...

  


* * *

 

The man danced on the floor before her; a strange twitching dance of dark poses and darker colors as blood started to trickle from his nose.

“Gaa…”

It was simple thing really; a slight tweak here, a small twist there.

He didn’t even scream as more blood dripped from his ears and into a pattern on the cold stone floor, foretelling his future. Then he was still. Magda turned her attention to the next men. She stared at them with blue eyes gone pitch black.

“No man touches a Confessor,” the Mother Confessor said in a tone that shook like thunder and sizzled like lighting.

She reached further into their minds; twisted just so.

“To do so...” she said slowly, in a voice full of the quiet promise of death. “Without her consent...”

Magda knelt down next to where her torturers writhed on the chamber floor, careful to avoid the dark blood that was dripping from their noses and ears. For a moment, she watched it flow past her soiled white dress, its folds stained with her own blood.

“Mistress, please...” they begged painfully.

“To do so... is to invite death, instead of love,” Magda said in a low voice.

She looked to another solider that stood close by and rose to face him. She held out her hand for the daggers that he carried. He handed them to her wordlessly and the Mother Confessor used them in one swift motion.

“And no living man should want that,” she continued darkly, watching as the solider dropped between his fellows, dying with a wet rattling sound that slipped from his opened throat.

The two writhing men on the floor only had moments to roll their eyes helplessly before Magda used the blades on them as well.

“Should they?” She asked as she turned her attention to the next man in her path.

She stepped over the fallen soldiers with a dancer's grace as she came to stand before him, the bloodstained daggers held loosely in her hands.

“Command me Mistress,” the wizard said, falling to his knees.

Magda looked over the battered and bruised forms of her two fallen sisters lying a short distance away.

“Die,” the Mother Confessor replied simply, holding out one of the blades to him.

“Yes Mistress,” the corrupt wizard replied and took the dagger from her. Without another word, he plunged it into his chest and fell to the floor. Like the others, he died with a sickening rattle. Magda waited, watched. When he breathed no more, she reached down and retrieved the blade with a wet sound. She turned to the last man in the room.

“How may I serve you, Mother Confessor?” The king asked, falling to his knees before her as all the others had done.

Magda tilted her head, her ebony eyes flickering with barely contained rage. She twisted the daggers in her hands with a slow, familiar grace, drawing the monarch's attention to them.

“You, and all your blood will indeed serve me,” the Mother Confessor answered quietly. “'Til the end of all your days.”

She looked back over to her fallen sisters before turning the full weight of her attention back to the trembling man. She set one of the daggers beneath his chin, titling his eyes up to meet her own.

“This will never happen again...” Magda said in a low, dark voice. “You will see to it.”

“As my Lady wills it, so shall it be,” the former monarch vowed.

“Go now,” the Mother Confessor commanded, falling to her own knees as soon as he had gone. She buried her face in her hands and wept. “So shall it be...”


	4. In This, the Year of Our Creator...

**Title:** In This, the Year of Our Creator...  
 **Rating:** PG; rated for concepts; language

 

 **Theme:** Mother Confessors  
 **Genre:** General/Drama  
 **Characters:** Original Characters  
 **Timeline/Spoilers:** Year 357 BCB

 **Prompt:** Lessons  
 **Word Count:** 1033

 **Author's Notes:** So okay, this one... First, the characters, except for Magda and Merrit of course, are original (and those two are only mentioned not used) Second, in the world of the series, who knows what funerary practices the Confessors might have practiced back in the day. *shrug* Third, the "chain of office" is something from me too (and you'll see it pop up in other stories) Finally the epitaphs:

 _Here lies one whose name was writ in water_ is for John Keats

I adapted: _So the lively force of her mind has broken down all barriers, and she has passed far beyond the limited hold of human existence; Forever now, in mind and spirit... She traverses the boundless universe_ for Sharon Grant-Henry (which was itself adapted from Lucretius)

(The others are mine)

  


* * *

 

Zenani solemnly lit the beeswax candles, creating a cradle of light that held Nacii in its warm embrace. It was perhaps the only thing that had ever done so unconditionally, without prejudice, or fear, or any expectation. The newest Mother Confessor found that incredibly sad and profoundly distressing, more so, to know that it had taken death for Nacii to find such pure love.

Zenani stepped back from the bier and moved to the kneeling cushions. She composed herself carefully, the unfamiliar weight of her chain of office distracting. She took it off.

“How did you ever get used to this thing?” She asked, fingering the knot-work of the pendant. She shook her head. “The same way you did everything I suppose,” she murmured, looking up to the still form of the former Mother Confessor. “With a grace and a strength that I'll never have.”

Zenani sighed.

“I don't know why they chose me. I'll never be the Mother Confessor you were.”

She set the chain aside, and listened for a moment to the still air and her breathing, almost harsh as it disturbed it.

“I can't do this,” she confessed suddenly. “I just can't.”

The newest Mother Confessor tugged fretfully at her long sleeves.

“And I can't do this; sit vigil. Why the hell do I have to sit vigil? It's not like you need me here; like you're not used to being alone... just like the rest of us...” Zenani blurted out angrily, rising to her feet. She began to pace. “Loveless women, sterile and alone and... and... always alone....”

She whirled, knocking the candles at the head of the bier to the cold stone floor. In almost a frenzy, she went to the foot of the bier and did the same thing with the candles there, plunging the crypt into darkness.

“Alone,” she nearly raved. “Even now, even in death, we can't be like other people, surrounded by loved ones and friends and husbands... families. Even in death, we're alone... you're alone... I'm alone... always alone...”

Zenani fell to the floor, bruising her knees on the cold stone and letting the chill seep into her bones.

“Alone,” she whispered into the solemn air. “I hate being alone,” she admitted. “And it was hard enough when I was just another confessor, now...”

She rose to look down on Nacii's still form.

“I'm Mother Confessor... solitary... untouchable... unassailable... loved from a distance...”

Zenani took a breath.

“How did you do that? How could you handle being so alone?”

Her next breath was a sob, and the next, and the next, until she was taking in deep gulps of dead air. She sank back down to the floor once more, nearly doubled over in pain and grief, for herself and the woman that had come before her.

“Did you ever feel like this? Did you?” Zenani gasped, her hands reaching out blinding in the emptiness around her. Unexpectedly, her fingers brushed against the smooth chiseled inscription on the floor next to her. She slid her finger along the deep grooves, tracing words that were familiar, but unreadable in the darkness.

Zenani reached out her other hand and found one of the candles. She lit it quickly and pushed the light over the inscription.

“ _Here lies one whose name was writ in water. Mother Confessor, in this, the year of our Creator, DCXCVII, Anya Amnell_ ,” Zenani read quietly. She traced her fingers over the inlay of knots and designs carved into the monument, finally circling the central one that echoed the pendant on her chain of office until slowly drawing her hand away. Then just as slowly, she rose. She looked around the crypt using the dim light of her single candle.

“Did any of you?” She murmured, walking to the far wall. She traced another inscription, whispering the epitaph into the darkness before finding another, and yet another until she came to one that shook her.

“ _So the lively force of her mind has broken down all barriers, and she has passed far beyond the limited hold of human existence; Forever now, in mind and spirit... She traverses the boundless universe; Go now, but someday come back for me my love... In memory of Magda Searus, beloved wife of the Wizard Merrit, and Mother Confessor, in this, the year of our Creator, MMCMLX_.” Zenani read quietly, her fingers traveling over the time worn inscription with reverence.

The Mother Confessor took a deep breath and stepped back from the wall to look toward the bier where her predecessor lay. She took another breath and moved to quietly gather up the scattered beeswax candles. This time as she lit them, she watched with a more peaceful solemnity as the light once more embraced Nacii in its comforting glow.

With the same quiet peace, Zanani resettled her kneeling cushion, noticing the nearby epitaph for the first time.

“ _The Creator gave me work while I lived, and life till my work was done, Mother Confessor, in this, the year of our Creator, MIII, Ashani Neomont_ ,” she read, recognizing it as the final resting place of her own direct ancestor.

Zanani looked up and gave a wry smile to her mentor as she lay in state. She finally read the simple epitaph prepared for the old Mother Confessor where it stood propped against the bier in readiness for Nacii's own resting place.

“ _In love, all beings are one, know always, you are never alone, Mother Confessor, in this, the Year of our Creator, CCCLVII, Nacci Jax_ ,” she read, reaching for the chain of office she had abandoned on the floor next to her vigil place. She set it around her neck.

“Still giving me lessons I see.”

Zanani gave another wry smile to the woman laying before her.

“I'm still not sure why they chose me. And I'm definitely not certain that I can be even half the Mother Confessor you were... but... I'll try... and it'll be easier now, knowing I'm not alone...”

The young Mother Confessor bowed her head and began her vigil...


	5. And All We do... it is for Our Sons

**Title:** And All We do... it is for Our Sons  
 **Rating:** PG; rated for general concepts; language

 

 **Theme:** Mother Confessors  
 **Genre:** Drama/Angst/Tragedy  
 **Characters:** Original Characters  
 **Timeline/Spoilers:** 697 BCB

 **Prompt:** Outfit/White/Celebration  
 **Word Count:** 822

 **Author's Notes:** So I need to explain a bit of the process here. I started with the prompt of outfit, thinking on the Mother Confessor's dress. Which of course, lead to me thinking about a white dress. Then I was probably watching way too much of "Say Yes to the Dress" (a show about brides finding their wedding gowns) so I thought about white dresses in that context. That brought me to weddings (celebrations) and then this... 'cause let's face it, can you imagine that many Mother Confessors had a real "wedding" celebration?

 

  


* * *

 

Anya sat tall in her chair, regal as any queen upon her throne. She tried to ignore the stiffness of the blue cushion beneath her, or how the hard wood dug into her back if she relaxed even the littlest bit. Instead, she surveyed the wide audience hall, taking in the sight of her black gowned sisters, their daughters and mates with them. She straightened a little further, her long auburn hair slipping back as she did so, and the white sleeves of her gown falling to her sides.

“Bring him,” the Mother Confessor commanded, watching the vast doors at the far end of the hall.

The doors opened, and a tall, broad shouldered man was walked into the audience chamber, a guard to either side of him. His chains rang as he walked, providing a dark melody for his march to her. The three men stopped far short of the Mother Confessor in her chair, but close enough for her to ask, “Samuel Cooper, do you know why you have been brought here?”

The prisoner sneered and looked around the hall.

“Yeah, so I can be confessed by one of you bitches.”

“The elders have determined that you are indeed guilty of the crimes to which you have been accused. As punishment for those crimes, you are to be confessed and made to serve those you have harmed.”

Anya paused, taking a breath as she studied the man before her, from his dark hair to his equally dark leather boots. Samuel smirked in response. “Like what you see girl?”

“No,” the Mother Confessor replied plainly. “But that is not required, for either of us. What is required is that you make a choice, the last choice you will ever be allowed to make for yourself, so I suggest that you consider it carefully.”

Anya rose.

“You will indeed be confessed by me, Samuel, and cease to be the man, the murderer, you have been in this life. Your thoughts will no longer belong to you; neither your body, nor your actions ever again dictated by your own desire or will. All of it will belong to me, til death do we part. Before this happens, I offer you a choice, and it is this, after you are confessed you may either be sent south to the Brothers of Alreic, there to serve as the Brothers see fit. Or you may remain here, as my mate.”

Samuel gave her another smirking grin as he looked her up and down.

“Let me get this straight, either I get to go be a monk in some backwater village down south, or stay here and be your husband?”

“Do you see a priest here? Are those gathered here a happy congregation of well-wishers?” Anya asked in reply, watching as Samuel did indeed look around to the solemn faces surrounding him. When he finally looked back to the woman before him, the smirk had fallen from his face.

“The Mother Confessor shall be no man's wife, and you, Samuel Cooper, shall be no woman's husband, no matter your choice in these last moments of your life... Now chose,” Anya said quietly, rising from her chair, her white gown falling down around her legs.

Samuel swallowed audibly, and straightened his own spine before looking around himself once more, this time paying close attention to the men and young girls gathered with the confessors. He looked back to Anya where she still stood before her chair.

“I'll stay,” he answered simply.

“Release this man from his chains.”

The guards did as the Mother Confessor had commanded and stepped back as she came forward to stand before their prisoner.

“One question,” Samuel said as Anya stood before him. “Why me? You could have a prince, a king, any man you want... why chose a broken solider from Bluecove; a murderer?”

Anya paused, considering the wisdom of telling the man before her the truth. She took a breath.

“I have been told that I shall one day bear a son, though I might hope for daughters.”

“That's an answer?” Samuel asked, clearly confused by her response.

“It is,” the confessor replied simply. “Though I hope, for both of our sakes that you never learn why.”

Suddenly, she reached forward and curved her hand around Samuel's neck, and before he could even flinch in response, Anya released her power into him, sending him to his knees. She stumbled back as the weight of confession left her and filled him. It took only moments before Samuel was asking her, “Mistress, how may I serve you?”

Anya looked to the man kneeling before her; the man that might someday have to kill her son. She smoothed her hands once over the white Mother Confessor's dress she wore before answering, “Give me daughters...” 


	6. Into the Waters

**Title:** Into the Waters  
 **Rating:** R; rated for non-graphic infanticide

 

 **Theme:** Mother Confessors  
 **Genre:** Drama/Tragedy  
 **Characters:** Original Characters  
 **Timeline/Spoilers:** 1003 BCB  
 **Warning:** Non-graphic infanticide

 **Prompt:** Water  
 **Word Count:** 577

 **Author's Notes:** Again, the words and the rite are just what I imagine might be since the show was not specific in regards to it or how it had been practiced before.

  


* * *

 

Ashani hesitated before the dark, wrought-iron gate, pressing her hand to the cool metal vines and knots.

“Creator...please... please...” she gasped, weakening enough to slide her hand down the still vines until her skin suddenly caught on a sharp point. She hissed in pain and held her fingers up in the moonlight, watching her blood drip in dark glimmers down the tips.

“So be it,” the Mother Confessor murmured, taking it as a message and drawing a small key loose from her long white sleeve. She set it to the lock and pushed against the disused gate with nearly all of her strength.

“Creator, grant me Your Grace... good Spirits...please...” she whispered breathlessly as she paused just inside of the ceremonial sand garden.

“Grant me strength...” she pleaded before taking a deep breath and forcing herself to walk to the ceremonial pool with its statue of the Creator. She stared up into the cold marble eyes a moment before slowly removing her white Confessor's dress to stand clad in only her undergown and chain of office. She shivered in the cool autumn air as she placed the gown in the open arms of the statue.

“Creator... please...”

She took a rasping breath, and another...

“Please...”

She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling the raised gooseflesh on her arms before she made herself draw her chain of office up and over her head. This too, she set in the arms of the Creator, settling it atop her dress.

And she took yet another breath before sinking down to the side of the pool. She stared into the depths of the too dark waters; unnaturally dark and sterile waters. She trailed her fingertips through the cool liquid and watched ripples die quicker than they should have in a natural pool.

“Ashani...”

She turned and watched her mate as he walked through the open gateway. In his arms he carried a surprisingly quiet, white swaddled bundle.

“Bring him,” she commanded as she rose.

Nicholas walked toward her. When he reached the Mother Confessor, she drew back the swaddling to look into the dark, unfocused eyes of her son. Before she could stop herself, she brushed a gentle hand over his brow, and even drugged, the infant responded instinctively, pressing himself into his mother's caress. Ashani pulled her hand back as if burned and closed her eyes. She bit her lip to hold back a cry.

“Ashani...”

“It must be done,” the Mother Confessor forced herself to say as steadily as possible. She turned her back on her mate and her child and faced the pool once more. She listened as her mate entered the waters with the child.

“Pour the Waters,” Ashani directed, watching as Nicholas poured a small vial into the waters, creating a dim phosphorescence in their depths.

“From the Waters we have come...” the Mother Confessor chanted the ritual words. “ _Mithra uth ithias... and to the Waters we return... th'isus yusha mira..._ ”

Ashani closed her eyes as the sound of splashing water filled her ears.

“So be it...” she whispered. “It is as it must be...”

The waters stilled and Ashani opened her eyes to look into her mate's.

“Ashani... are you... how are....”

Nicholas took a breath.

“How may I serve you?”

“Give me daughters...” the Mother Confessor replied simply before sinking to the sand at her feet...


	7. The White Queen Falls

**Title:** The White Queen Falls  
 **Rating:** PG rated for general concepts; language

 

 **Theme:** Mother Confessors  
 **Genre:** Drama/Tragedy  
 **Characters:** Original Character  
 **Timeline/Spoilers:** Sometime pre-series in the history of the Confessors

 **Prompt:** White/Outfit/Negative Space  
 **Word Count:** 527

 **Author's Notes:** Nope, no real notes I think for this one. *grin*

 

  


* * *

 

“Ouch!” Kaya hissed lightly, looking down to the matronly woman kneeling at her slippered feet, needle in hand.

“If you'd simply stand still...” the older woman replied with well worn sympathy, her deft fingers never pausing in their task. “As I reminded you to do not but two minutes ago...”

Kaya held back another restless twitch and forced herself to stand as still as she could. Of course, that only lasted for a few uncomfortable moments of silence before the sound of light, girlish laughter once more drifted up to the Mother Confessor's tower room. It was quickly followed by the deeper sounds of courtly male voices, and a distracted Kaya hissed as she was once more struck by Miriam's flashing silver needle.

“We _could_ just leave the rest for another day,” the Confessor nearly pleaded, and more than half commanded.

“ _Or_... you _could_ just stop acting like a child and let an old woman get this done. An old woman who, I might add, has more than enough things to be doing today without having to coddle you,” Miriam replied with the kind of stern love that only someone who had known the Mother Confessor since infancy would dare express. She ignored Kaya's deadly glare and continued to hem the new, white silken gown that fell through her work and age roughened hands.

“Or I could just confess you...”

“You could,” Miriam agreed simply as she continued to sew, her silver needle flashing in the spring morning light.

“But I don't want to,” Kaya said quietly after a few moments of heavy silence. “I don't want to confess anyone. I don't want this... any of this...” she added in a rush, twitching the gown in her hands and pulling it from Miriam's own.

“I want what they have, Miriam,” she said, gesturing wildly toward the open window. “I want spring, and laughter and a husband that loves me for me. I want to bear children without the pain of knowing that I'll pass this _gift_ on to them. I want to be able to give and have love; not wield it like some terrible weapon. I want...”

She looked wildly around the room a moment before darting toward the small, elegant table that held the remains of their morning meal.

“I want red,” Kaya declared fiercely, snatching up a half drunk glass of wine. “I want red,” she repeated, deliberately pouring the wine onto the folds of her gleaming white confessor's gown. “And blue,” she continued, crushing spring berries against her belly, grinding them into the fabric. “And yellow... and brown... and green...” she nearly panted, staining the silk that confined her.

“I want life, Miriam. I want all the colors of life,” she sobbed, finally dropping down to her knees in a sodden mess. “Life, Miriam; not this damned pale imitation of it... don't make me wear this... please... please...”

Slowly, the old nurse stepped forward and gently, ever so gently, helped the young Confessor rise, and without a word, helped her slip the dress from her shoulders...


	8. Be Good to Your Daughters

**Title:** Be Good to Your Daughters  
 **Rating:** PG-15; rated for adult concepts

 

 **Theme:** Mother Confessors  
 **Genre:** Drama/Tragedy  
 **Characters:** Original Characters; mention of bookverse character  
 **Timeline/Spoilers:** Pre-series; historic confessors

 **Prompt:** Lost  
 **Word Count:** 855

 **Author's Notes:** Nope, no notes I think.

  


* * *

 

“How is she?” Yosef asked the young girl that stood nervously outside the heavy door of the Mother Confessor's chamber.

“She is... she's worse I think...” the girl stammered.

Yosef looked her over, his eyes measuring.

“I haven't heard anything... but she hasn't left her rooms all morning, and she hasn't eaten anything,” the girl explained in a nervous and uncertain voice.

Yosef nodded and brushed past her to reach for the door.

“Wizard...”

The older man turned to eye the Mother Confessor's self-appointed guard. The girl straightened her spine and Yosef saw the mask of a Confessor fall over her face.

“She is _our_ Mother Confessor, Wizard,” she said, a world of meaning in every word.

Yosef nodded once.

“She is _the_ Mother Confessor,” the girl repeated.

“I understand girl,” the wizard replied, letting a touch of sympathy enter his voice. “I do...”

It was the Confessor's turn to nod and she stepped back, letting Yosef open the door without further obstruction.

“Gabrielle... Gabrielle?”

“What do you want, wizard?” Asked a dead sounding voice from the shadows.

“They tell me that you're feeling unwell.”

“ _They're_ wrong.”

Yosef stepped further into the darkened rooms, his eyes searching the even darker shadows that lurked in the corners.

“I see... well, actually, I don't...” the wizard countered slowly. “Why don't you come out, Gabrielle?”

He heard an eerie sort of laugh from the far corner and turned a blind eye in that direction.

“What's happened, Gabrielle? Tell me...” Yosef coaxed.

Again, the Mother Confessor laughed her strange laugh until it abruptly stopped, only to begin again as an almost sobbing sound.

“Gabrielle...”

“Would you take my confession, wizard?” She asked contemptuously through her sobs.

“I would help you,” Yosef replied instantly, turning in the darkness. Try as he might, he couldn't seem to discover where the Mother Confessor hid in her chambers and the sound of her sobs seemed to come at him from all directions.

“I see them, wizard,” Gabrielle offered suddenly, her sobs stopping as her voice took on a haunted, hollow tone. “I see them; all of them; around me; in me... I see them... and it's all your fault...”

“My fault?”

“Yours...” she hissed. “Your kind created us... doomed us... every daughter until the end of time... every generation, unto the very last...”

“Gabrielle...”

“No wizard... you should know to never lie to a Confessor...”

“And how do you know I would lie, you don't know what I mean to say, Gabrielle,” Yosef countered reasonably.

“Are you speaking?”

“Of course,” Yosef replied uncertainly.

“Then I know you're lying...” the Mother Confessor spat.

The wizard sighed. “I want to help you, Gabrielle. Tell me what's happened.”

“I see them... every one... right back to the very first,” the Mother Confessor responded, her voice once more falling like dead sound from the shadows. “I was only ten,” she continued. “Did you know that wizard? I was only ten when I took my first Confession; a murderer that raped and killed his wife... his daughters... that threatened to do it to me... I took his Confession and he took my soul.”

“Gabby...”

“And he's here, wizard... he stands next to me and whispers... tells me about all the things he'll do to me in my sleep... and I'm always asleep, wizard...”

“Gabby...”

“And then there's the woman that drowned her children because she was angry with her husband. He was cheating on her, so she killed his children... they sing to me... only, I can't understand what they're saying, because their mother is always filling their throats with water...”

She sobbed.

“Gabrielle, I don't see anyone,” Yosef said, looking around. “Are they here now?”

The Mother Confessor laughed.

“Of course you don't see them, Yosef... you can't... they aren't really here...”

“Gabrielle...”

Suddenly, she appeared from the shadows, coming toe to toe with him.

“You can't see them, because they aren't really here. I'm simply mad, Yosef. But what did you expect really? Deny a person love... touch... everything but this mad existence, and something like this was bound to happen.”

Suddenly, she reached out to grasp the wizard's throat.

“I didn't want to do this, Yosef, but it's the only way you'll see...”

“I'm sorry, Gabrielle,” he apologized, even as she looked down to where he had snapped the radahan closed. “I'm so sorry. You're right, Gabrielle. It _is_ my fault.”

She sank to the floor at his feet. Yosef dropped down next to her.

“Meritt was right, we will never be able to repay our debt to you, any of us. I'm so sorry. You're right, you and all your daughters deserve better. I'm so sorry.”

Gently, he removed the chain of office from around her neck, releasing her from it's burden.

“I'm so sorry...”

He opened his arms as the Mother Confessor fell into them, sobbing...


	9. All on a Summer's Day

**Title:** All on a Summer's Day  
 **Rating:** G

 

 **Theme:** Mother Confessors  
 **Genre:** General/Humor  
 **Characters:** Original Characters  
 **Timeline/Spoilers:** Pre-series; historic confessor

 **Prompt:** Strawberries  
 **Word Count:** 851

 **Author's Notes:** Finally, a happy one. *grin* And yeah, I suppose that Tovin may be an ancestor of our wizard. *grin*

  


* * *

 

“And why is it, precisely, do you have us doing this?” The old wizard grumbled, digging his shovel deep into the dark earth at his feet.

He looked over to the serene figure next to him. She too was digging in the soft earth, her long white sleeves knotted high up on her arms to keep them free of the soil. One of the only concessions that she had made to the nature of their activity, the other being the worn leather boots she wore instead of her customary white slippers.

“Strawberries,” she replied simply, her voice as serene as her appearance.

“Yes, I know that,” the wizard Tovin countered. “What I meant, was why do you have us _digging_ this garden?”

Still not looking in his direction, she answered him, “You do understand how strawberries are grown...”

Usagi paused, leaning lightly on her shovel's handle as she brushed a long strand of graying hair back from her face.

“In a garden...” she continued. Finally, she looked Tovin's direction. “By _digging_... in _dirt_...” she added sweetly, raising a single silver eyebrow.

Tovin snorted inelegantly even as Usagi laughed, her voice as light as it had been since her youth.

“I doubt you'll be complaining when the strawberries are ripe and you can steal tarts and jams and pies from the kitchens.”

“I wouldn't be complaining now if you'd just let me use my magic,” the old wizard retorted. “At the very least, you could let me prepare the ground, even if you do insist on planting the strawberries yourself. I'm getting far too old for this...” he grumbled.

“And what fun would that be, wizard?” Usagi replied, setting back to her task with a will.

“ _This_ is fun?”

“Of course.”

“I shudder to think of what you deem to be work,” Tovin remarked. “And...” he drawled. “I do believe I just may pity these poor girls.”

Usgai's expression grew sad and shuttered for just a moment, and Tovin felt a brief wave of pained chagrin at his ill chosen words. “Usagi...”

The Mother Confessor shook herself slightly and forced herself to present a serene expression once more.

“Let be, Tovin... it's... I understood what you meant,” she assured him quietly, smiling slightly. “Now,” she said. “Shall we get back to our...”

“ _Fun_ ,” the old wizard interrupted lightly. “Of course,” he replied, once more setting his back into digging up the earth at his feet.

“Tarts...” he murmured almost under his breath after several moments, brushing his own long hair back from his now sweating brow. “Tarts...” he repeated, digging firmly into the soil. “Tarts and jam... tarts and jam and preserves...”

“Don't forget souffles,” Usagi offered with a quiet smile, looking over to her long time protector and friend.

“Rachel does make the most delicious souffles,” Tovin agreed. “I don't know how I could have forgotten. So that makes it tarts, jam, preserves, and souffles,” the wizard listed, working through the garden plot that he and the Mother Confessor were preparing.

“Tarts, jam, preserves, souffles, pies... and tortes,” Usagi encouraged as they finished with the soil and moved on to the planting.

“Oh... tortes...” Tovin nearly sighed. He looked longingly around at the small plants. “Couldn't I use just a touch of magic... a small touch... We could be having torte for evening dessert.”

“Three months isn't so very long wizard,” Usgai comforted him. “Besides, the anticipation will make all that much sweeter.”

Tovin groaned a little, but smiled when she did and took the moment to enjoy working alongside the Mother Confessor not as her wizard and protector, but as her friend.

“Usagi...” Tovin said finally after several minutes of work, watching a moment as the Mother Confessor planted the last strawberry.

She looked up and then rose, brushing dirt from her white dress and leaving behind dark streaks.

“Remind me again, just why I couldn't have used my magic?” Tovin asked, setting a hand to his now aching back.

“Wizard's rule number fifteen, _to know what comes after you must know what comes before_ ,” Usagi replied serenely.

Tovin groaned with amused fondness.

“Come on old wizard, I'll get you a warm towel for your back and a cold chicken sandwich for your belly.”

“Two,” Tovin countered.

Usagi laughed and nodded. She turned and began walking back to the Confessor's Hall.

The wizard smiled and reached a hand back. “ _Grotari est_ ,” he murmured under his breath, waggling his fingers just so. Behind him one of the strawberry plants grew, bloomed, and produced fruit, all in a matter of moments as if months, and not minutes had just passed.

“Wizard's rule number twenty three, _never underestimate what a hungry wizard will do for a good strawberry torte..._ ”

“Are you coming?”

“Of course my dear,” Tovin replied with another small smile as he followed her back into the Confessor's Hall...


	10. You Picked Me

**Title:** You Picked Me  
 **Rating:** PG; rated for general concepts

 

 **Theme:** Mother Confessors  
 **Genre:** Drama/Romance  
 **Characters:** Original Characters  
 **Timeline/Spoilers:** Pre-series; historic Mother Confessors

 **Prompt:** Song Title (You Picked Me - A Fine Frenzy)  
 **Word Count:** 663

 **Author's Notes:** Nope, none really

  


* * *

 

“Mother Confessor?”

Nathaniel stepped into the candlelit room and stilled, taking a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dim colors that surrounded him.

“Mother Confessor?”

He looked around, searching for the familiar shape of the young woman that led all the Confessors.

“Sophia? Sophia...”

“Are _you_ the one they chose?”

“Sophia, where are you?”

She stepped quietly from the shadows near the night cloaked window.

“Are you?” She asked in an almost hollow sort of voice.

Nathaniel took a deep breath and nodded slowly.

“Why?”

“Why?” He echoed, unable to hide his confusion.

“Why did they choose you?” She asked in a near whisper. “Why you?”

“I wanted this,” he replied simply, finally stepping further into the room.

“What?”

Nathaniel stepped closer, tilting his head in an effort to see the Mother Confessor's face more clearly.

“I wanted this...” he repeated, holding out a hand in a gesture of warmth and supplication.

“Why?” Sophia asked again, as if unable to help herself.

Nathaniel lowered his hand.

“Why didn't you choose someone?” He countered. “Why didn't you make the choice yourself?”

The Mother Confessor finally stepped out of the cool shadows and into the warm light of the candles that glowed throughout her bedchamber.

“I couldn't,” she admitted before shrugging softly. “And I don't know that...” Sophia had to take a deep breath before she could continue. “I don't know that it much matters, does it?” She asked, gesturing a bit helplessly before sinking down to the floor at the foot of her bed. She tucked her knees up and wrapped her arms around them before resting her chin on top of them.

“You think I have all the power,” she murmured. “I have nothing... nothing...”

Nathaniel moved to join Sophia, kneeling before her.

“You have me,” he whispered. “I chose this. I chose you, Sophia.”

“Why?” She asked once more.

“Do you remember,” Nathaniel said in a soft voice. “When you were five... you wanted one of the apples from that old tree that's in the kitchen gardens?”

Sophia nodded slowly, moving her head on her hands.

“You climbed the tree for me,” she whispered. “And fell...”

“That's why,” he whispered. “I fell for you then...”

Nathaniel smiled wryly.

“I chose to do this, because I fell for you then, and I want to fall for you now, Sophia.”

“You know you won't be the same... the same boy... after... after this...” she whispered back.

“No man is ever the same after...” he replied quietly.

“This is different, Nathaniel,” she argued, raising her head to look him in the eyes.

“Not in the ways that matter... not for me,” he countered gently. “I chose you, Sophia... all I'm asking is that you accept that... that you choose me...”

Slowly and gently he leaned forward to kiss her tenderly.

“Choose me, Sophia,” he whispered against her lips. “I want this... now all you have to do is let yourself want it too.”

He kissed her again.

“And you _do_ want it, Sophia. I know _you_... I _know you_...” he whispered fervently. “ _I know you_...”

“Nathaniel...” she murmured in return, her lips moving against his. “You don't know what you're asking.” She pulled back.

“I do,” he insisted. “I know exactly what I'm asking. And I know that I would rather be Confessed to you, for you, than see another man in my place.”

He kissed her once more.

“I know what I'm asking,” he assured her. “Do you know what I'm asking for?”

She met his dark eyes with her own gray ones.

“Do you?” Nathaniel asked again.

Sophia kissed him gently before rising slowly. She held out her hand for him. He took it...


	11. It's a Promise

**Title:** It's a Promise  
 **Rating:** G  
  
  
 **Theme:** Mother Confessors  
 **Genre:** General/Drama  
 **Characters:** Original Characters; mention of bookverse character  
 **Timeline/Spoilers:** Pre-series; historic Mother Confessors  
  
 **Prompt:** 5 Colors  
 **Word Count:** 782  
  
 **Author's Notes:** The definitions for love (via the Greeks) would not stand up to close scrutiny, I played fast and loose with 'em. They do mean roughly what I've written them meaning, but there are certainly stricter definitions.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Amaltheia ducked under the glistening branches of the wayward pine, feeling the long sleeves of her gown snag on broken limbs. Deftly, she plucked them free and peered into the wavering shadows.   
  
“Maya,” she said softly as her daughter looked up through loose, dark curls. Shining green eyes greeted her, bright with tears.   
  
Amaltheia held out her arms, and her young daughter scrambled ungracefully into them. Together, they nearly fell out from underneath the branches, scattering pine needles onto the damp grass.  
  
“Have you been here the whole time?” The Mother Confessor asked her daughter, feeling her skirts start to soak through. She shifted her daughter in her arms, cradling her more comfortably as she settled into the damp grass.   
  
Silently, the child nodded, sniffling loudly.   
  
Amaltheia kissed her daughter softly on the top of her head and sang softly. “ _Oh, my wayward child in the wayward pine... come back home, love... come back and be mine... Oh, wayward child mine... hide no more in the pine... never a pine... come thou home, love... and always be mine..._ ”  
  
Maya buried her face in her mother's shoulder and blindly reached for the knotted pendant of her chain of office. Her small fingers twisted the pendant over and over.   
  
“Why, my little wayward girl, are you hiding here?” Amaltheia asked after a few moments, stroking her daughter's riotous curls back into some semblance of order.   
  
Maya dropped the pendant from her fingers and twisted in her mother's arms. She smoothed her fingers over her mother's white sleeve for a moment, before plucking fitfully at her own.   
  
Amaltheia smiled a bit sadly and dropped another kiss on her daughter's brow.   
  
“Look there,” she whispered, encouraging Maya to look up into the the scattered clouds. “My mother used to tell me that rainbows were a promise from the Creator that _we_ were keeping, and that we wear white to remind ourselves, and others of that.”  
  
The Mother Confessor began to rock her daughter, heedless of the damp and dew that was soaking into her skirts.   
  
“I don't understand, Momma,” Maya confessed in a quiet, serious voice.   
  
“Red is _eros_ , the love that is beauty and truth and everything between souls. The love that moves us all, one to the other,” Amaltheia explained gently. “And orange, that's _storge_ , the love of a mother for her child...”  
  
The Mother Confessor gave her daughter another quick kiss before continuing her explanation.  
  
“Of a grandmother for her granddaughter... of sisters... of the family...”  
  
“And what's yellow, Momma?”  
  
She smiled.  
  
“Yellow is _philía_ , the love you have for your friends. It's loyalty, and honesty, and caring for another as you would yourself.”  
  
Amaltheia paused, shifting her daughter in her lap as she stopped rocking. She rested her head atop Maya's dark curls and just let time be still for a moment.   
  
“Green, Momma...” Maya prompted.   
  
The Confessor took a deep breath of cool air and raised her eyes back up to the sky.  
  
“Green is _agapē_ ; selfless love, self-sacrificial love. It's the love that puts the needs of the many over the one, and loves people, all people, even when it hurts.”  
  
Maya shivered a little in her mother's arms, and Amaltheia tightened them around her comfortingly.   
  
“And blue,” she continued. “Blue is _thelema_. It's wanting to have purpose, to serve something greater than yourself. It's the desire to be something in the world; something important and beautiful, even if it's only for a little bit, or for just one person.”   
  
“But how is that a promise, Momma? And how does wearing white remind people of a rainbow? I don't understand.”  
  
Amaltheia smiled another sad smile over her daughter's head.  
  
“Long ago, there was a Great War... a terrible, terrible war that caused so much suffering that it made the Creator Herself weep,” she explained slowly. “So She gave the gift of Confession to Magda and her sisters with the promise that if they used it wisely, there would never again be war like that. And the Creator made the rainbow, a sign of that promise.”  
  
Maya reached quietly for the long sleeves of her mother's dress and draped them over herself.  
  
“White is every color together,” Amaltheia informed her daughter quietly. “White is our gift, our power... every love together... the power of Confession.”   
  
The Mother Confessor placed another kiss on her daughter's head.   
  
“And with Confession, we fulfill the Creator's promise,” she whispered into the tousled curls.   
  
“A rainbow,” Maya murmured, smoothing the white fabric under her small hands; smoothing her own white dress underneath...


	12. Catch Her in the Rye

**Title:** Catch Her in the Rye  
 **Rating:** PG; rated for some adult content

 

 **Theme:** Mother Confessors  
 **Genre:** Drama/Romance  
 **Characters:** Kieran/Viviane  
 **Timeline/Spoilers:** 1000 years before series (that's how old they said the legend was)/spoilers for "Revenant"

 **Prompt:** Summer/Song Title (Comin' Thro' The Rye - Robert Burns)  
 **Word Count:** 529

 **Author's Notes:** It's a fairly reasonable guess I think, to at least suppose that Viviane could have been a Mother Confessor. At the very least, it is never directly contradicted by the source material, so I beg your indulgence. *grin* Oh, and yes I'm one of those that thinks there's at least some doubt about the "fact" that Kieran was confessed.

  


* * *

 

Kieran impulsively reached out, brushing his fingertips unexpectedly down along Viviane's side.

“Hey,” she giggled, surprised into a light response. “What are you doing?”

Kieran smiled. “I’m cherishing,” he replied happily, letting his hand linger on the warmth of her hip.

Viviane smiled wistfully herself and reached over to tickle her own fingertips over Kieran's stomach.

“Hey, what are _you_ doing?” he echoed, laughing with a low rumble as he rolled with Viviane in the tall summer grasses.

“Thinking,” she replied in an almost solemn tone when they finally came to rest, tangled together “We shouldn't have done this, Kieran.”

“Nothing has changed, Viviane” Kieran argued softly. “Nothing... I have always loved you, and you've loved me. This hasn't changed that. It's only made it real in a way that it could never have been before,” he assured her.

Viviane reached up to trace her fingertips along his face. “You're only saying that because you're confessed,” she whispered heavily.

“I don't feel confessed,” Kieran countered. “I feel as I always have, Viviane. I love you,” he said quietly, pressing his weight gently into her as if to somehow prove it.

With an almost unbearable tenderness, he brushed her lips softly with his own.

“And even if I am, it's what I've wanted since almost the first moment I met you. It's what was meant to be,” he assured her.

“But what of your quest; our quest?” Viviane asked, her voice trembling quietly with a hint of lingering uncertainty. “Amfortas thinks...”

Kieran interrupted her gently with a kiss.

“It doesn't matter what Amfortas thinks,” he declared. “All that matters is us; you and I,” the Seeker continued fiercely.

Kieran took a deep breath and reached for her left hand, slipping his silver ring onto her finger.

“We belong to each other, Viviane; nothing can change that,” he vowed before kissing her passionately. “Nothing was ever meant to change that; not quests, not the fear of confession, not Amfortas...”

Again, he kissed her with fervent desire.

“I will not abandon my quest,” Kieran assured his Confessor. “I won't. But I won't let anyone or anything part us either. That's the truth, Viviane. I swear it.”

For a moment, Viviane was completely still, enjoying the warmth and feel of Kieran's ring encircling her finger as if it had been made for her, as if it had always belonged there. Then with a nearly dreamlike slowness, she traced every part of him that she could reach, willing herself to believe that everything he had said was true and that she could have what she wanted and still remain true to her duty.

“You do believe that, don't you Viviane? You do believe me...” Kieran asked with the quiet intensity that the Confessor had always loved about him.

“Yes” she whispered, half to herself and half in fervent prayer to whatever good spirits might have been listening. “I do...”

Kieran replied with a soft smile.

“I believe you,” Viviane whispered into the warmth of his lips before kissing him tenderly…


	13. Haunted

**Title:** Haunted  
 **Rating:** PG; rated for general concepts

 

 **Theme:** Mother Confessors  
 **Genre:** General/Drama  
 **Characters:** Amfortas, Viviane  
 **Timeline/Spoilers:** Spoilers for "Revenant"

 **Prompt:** Haunted  
 **Word Count:** 537

 **Author's Notes:** Again, "spells" are just nonsense words that sounded good to me. *grin*

  


* * *

 

Amfortas walked the silent corridor, not sure which felt more haunted, him, or Kieran's tomb. He reached a hand out to touch the cool stone.

“I did what had to be done,” he murmured into the stillness. “As I will continue to do,” he added.

That’s when he heard it, a low sound, soft and melancholy. It was faint, but he could hear it whispering through the tomb and could swear that he felt its quiet vibrations in his fingertips. He would have called it a ghost sound, except that it felt more alive than that, mourning and aching, but quietly alive nonetheless.

“Viviane?” he asked in a low voice.

But no one answered.

“ _Om wen cai qu shi huis_ ,” Amfortas murmured to himself under his breath.

“Viviane?”

Again there was no answer. The wizard took a deep breath in his borrowed body and listened carefully, hearing the sound resolve itself into the low notes of a melody.

He took a deep breath. “It's enough, Viviane,” Amfortas nearly growled.

Slowly, the wizard made his way through the tomb, following the song that seemed to be trying to consume his heart like the touch of confession. The echoes of it lead him through the corridors and to the still sealed doorway of Kieran's secret burial chamber.

“Viviane,” he murmured.

Carefully, Amfortas opened the door to see the spirit of the Mother Confessor standing by her Seeker's remains. She looked up and over to her former wizard with eyes as dark as the shadows that surrounded them. And he noticed then, that she had been crying. He hardened his heart to the sight.

“Viviane.”

Amfortas stepped into the chamber, and Viviane looked back down to the remains of her lover. Quietly, she began to sing again, the notes whispering softly and brushing against the wizard and the tomb's walls like silk in the breeze. Her translucent fingertips reached for Kieran, unable to touch, but equally unable to resist the temptation to try.

Amfortas saw more tears fall from her dark eyes and drift into her hair like stars. The part of him that was the simple man, the trapped soul of the grave robber he had possessed, ached to reach out and capture those stars, ease the spirit's pain. Instead, Amfortas forced the body to approach Viviane and cast a dark shadow over her.

Viviane stopped singing.

“Leave this place,” he commanded, making the naturally warm voice of his possessed body cold and forbidding. “Leave this place now.”

She looked up.

“Release him,” the spirit of the Mother Confessor replied. “Please, Amfortas... let him go... let us be together, as you promised.”

A weaker man, a kinder man, might have given in, but Amfortas was neither.

“ _Tossus amro_ ,” he chanted, thrusting his hands out toward the spirit.

A flash of blinding blue-white light, and Viviane was gone. Amfortas looked over the remains of the former Seeker, making certain that all the bindings held.

“I did what had to be done,” he murmured into the stillness. “As I will continue to do. Love has no place in destiny or duty,” he declared. “No place...” 


	14. Where is the Little Boy I Carried

**Title:** Where is the Little Boy I Carried  
 **Rating:** PG-15; rated for violence and implied violence

 

 **Theme:** Mother Confessors  
 **Genre:** Drama/Tragedy/Horror  
 **Characters:** Serena, Her son (I named him William)  
 **Timeline/Spoilers:** Spoilers for "Sacrifice"

 **Prompt:** Destiny/Fate  
 **Word Count:** 1081

 **Author's Notes:** My take on how Serena's son might have died

  


* * *

 

“Mother...”

William looked up from where he sat, turning his angel's face toward the shocked and heartbroken woman standing in the doorway.

“William...” Serena choked out, her chest tightening painfully. “William...”

“Hello mother,” he greeted her, darkly unconcerned with the hell that surrounded him.

Serena forced herself to step calmly into the library turned abattoir.

“William...”

The Confessor swallowed, trying to push down her horror. Carefully, she approached her son, trying to ignore the way her white sleeves were becoming stained a dark red-brown.

“William...”

“I didn't expect you today mother. Marta said you had gone to Aydindril,” the young boy said calmly, twirling a dagger on the flat of its blade. The metal made a hollowing ringing sound as it rubbed over the scarred wood of his study table.

“I wanted to be here,” Serena replied as steadily as she could. “With you...”

William tilted his head, as if measuring the truth of her words, which, she supposed, he was.

“Did you?”

The Confessor took a deep breath and almost gagged on fetid air. William tilted his head in the opposite direction, studying her. Serena took a shallow breath.

“Of course,” she said in a low, steady tone.

“Thank you, Mother,” William replied sincerely.

Serena stepped one step closer.

“William,” she said carefully. “William, what's happened?”

“Happened, Mother?”

The Confessor tried very hard not to look around herself, and instead kept all her attention on the boy that she had raised; had thought that love would keep safe.

“Hasn't something happened today, William?”

“Of course, Mother. Something always happens,” he replied, smiling at her sweetly. “Doesn't it?”

Serena tried to take another deep breath, but stopped herself. She took another step closer to the boy seated at the opposite side of the table.

“Yes; yes something always happens. But today, what happened today, Love?”

The child looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time, or more accurately, as if finally seeing that his surroundings related to his mother's question in some fashion.

“I got hurt,” William answered simply, tipping the dagger to point it's blade towards Serena. “Then I got mad,” he continued, hefting the blade carefully in his hand, as if considering it.

Serena licked her lips nervously.

“You were hurt today, William?”

She forced herself closer.

“Yes, Mother.”

“Did... did our friends hurt you?”

William's eyes flashed.

“They're not our friends,” he answered. “They're not _our_ friends,” he repeated in a low, fierce voice. He nodded as if to emphasis the point. “They're not our friends, they're _my_ friends,” he clarified in a calmer voice.

Serena again tried to not look around, focusing instead on the stained dagger in her son's hands.

“Did your friends hurt you?” She asked carefully.

“They said things,” William replied. “They said things that I did not like. Many things...”

William's eyes took on a distant sort of look.

“I did not like the things they said. It hurt. It hurt very much, Mother.”

The boy turned his attention back to Serena.

“It hurt very much, Mother, and I wished you were here. I wished very much that you had been here. You would have made it stop.”

His brown eyes welled up with tears.

“I wish you had been here, Mother.”

Serena closed the last of the distance between herself and the table. She felt the scarred wood dig into her legs and pressed against it, heedless of the dark fluids on it staining her white dress.

“I know, William,” she comforted the child. “I know. I wish I had been here too.”

“ _But you weren't_ ,” the boy countered, suddenly fierce again. “ _You weren't..._ ”

He took a breath, calming as abruptly has he had raged.

“You weren't here, so I did something about it.”

“What did you do?” Serena asked, trying to keep the horror and sadness from her voice.

William shrugged and started twirling his dagger again, the point pressed into the wood and turning a small hole there. He looked down, watching the steady flash of the blade in the light.

“I told them that I did not like the things they were saying,” the boy said. “I told them that my true friends would never say such things. I told them that you would not like them saying such things. And I _told_ them that you loved me and so should they.”

William looked up to meet his mother's eyes.

“It's true isn't, Mother? You do love me?”

Serena took a breath.

“Yes, Baby... I love you very much. I have always loved you.”

William nodded to himself as if in confirmation.

“I told them.”

“William...” Serena said slowly. “William... after you confessed them, what happened?”

The child looked calmly around himself, apparently unaffected by the sight.

“I asked them so show me that they were sorry.”

He shrugged and look back to Serena.

“They were very sorry, Mother. I was glad to see that they were so sorry. It made me feel a little better. Though I still wish you had been here.”

“I wish I had been too,” she whispered.

Serena looked to the dagger in her son's hands.

“May I see that?”

Without any hesitation, the boy handed the blade to his mother. She gripped it in her hands painfully, and before either of them could stop, William and Serena reached out to each other. The Confessor plunged the blade into her son's chest, and William spread his small hand around her throat. For a moment, Serena felt the weight of Confession fall over her and she looked in horror at her hand holding the dagger.

“I just wanted them to love me like you do, Mommy...” William protested, his voice weak. “I just wanted...”

Serena felt the weight of Confession lift as her son died, and another more terrible weight take its place. She stumbled around the table to take her fallen son in her arms. Together, they sank to the floor.

“I just wanted you, William. I'm so sorry... I thought...”

She took a shuddering breath.

“I thought love would be enough...”

Serena buried her face in the fading warmth of her son's body, and wept...


	15. Paint Your Dreams

**Title:** Paint Your Dreams  
 **Rating:** G

 

 **Theme:** Mother Confessors  
 **Genre:** General/Drama  
 **Characters:** Kahlan Amnell and her Mother (Mother's POV)  
 **Timeline/Spoilers:** Kahlan's five; essentially spoilers for "Bound"

 **Prompt:** Nightmares  
 **Word Count:** 791

 **Author's Notes:** Okay, so this one... I kind of did a weird ol' mix of book and series. From the book, I took that Kahlan's mum was the Mother Confessor. I also used the name Brophy for her stuffed animal, and I mention the Mud People. From the series, I use the fact that Kahlan's mum dies when she's five and that Fredrick is her father. This story basically takes place right at the time that Kahlan's mother is getting sick.

It does take place in the world of the series though. *grin*

  


* * *

“ _Momma, Momma..._ ”

I heard my daughter's cry as she banged tiny fists as hard as she could against my chamber door.

“ _Momma!_ ”

I looked to Frederick, and without a word, he rose from my bedside. The moment he opened the door, Kahlan froze, hesitating at the threshold. Frederick himself stilled, uncertain until I gestured for my daughter.

“Kahlan love...”

My young daughter tumbled past her father and into the room, dashing to my bed, her shapeless gray stuffed animal clutched so tightly in her tiny hands that her knuckles were white

“Momma, Momma, I confessed Brophy...” She admitted in a quavering voice, her eyes tearing as she held out her stuffed animal helplessly. “I didn't mean to Momma... what do I do? What do I do Momma...” she gasped, her voice uncontrollably choked with tears.

“Oh baby,” I soothed, holding out my own thin arms. My troubled daughter launched herself into them and I cradled her to me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Frederick step out the door and close it behind himself.

“Baby, why do you think you confessed Brophy?”

Kahlan buried her small head in my shoulder. “Oh Momma I just did... I... I...” she mumbled, her tears soaking into my gown. “I didn't mean to, but I feel asleep and I... I just did it...”

“Oh love,” I soothed, running my hand through her dark hair and trying to not notice just how thin my fingers where as they brushed through the clinging tendrils. “My sweetest little girl, you haven't confessed Brophy. It was a dream... a nightmare...”

I shifted my daughter's weight in my arms and gently took the shapeless animal from her trembling fingers.

“See love,” I soothed, brushing my own hand over the ratty gray fur. “He's fine... he's just fine...”

I smiled comfortingly at Kahlan.

“We all have those nightmares... we all do Baby...”

I set Brophy back in my daughter's hands and brushed my free hand over her brow, smoothing the worries there.

“We all have the nightmares, Baby... but that's all they are Kahlan... nightmares. You'll always keep your friends safe. You'll learn to hold the power safe inside, all snug and coiled inside...”

“Truly?” Kahlan asked in a tiny voice.

“Truly,” I assured her.

“And you'll teach me, Momma...”

I took a depth breath.

“Momma?”

I brushed her hair back and gently settled her next to me in the bed.

“Close your eyes, Baby, I'll paint your face...”

Kahlan smiled, snuggling herself into the covers in preparation for our little ritual. She closed her eyes and cuddled Brophy in her arms. I smoothed my hands over her face. I brushed her hair back.

“What do you want to be, Baby?”

Kahlan smiled and answered without hesitation, “Paint me as a Mud Person, Momma.”

“A Mud Person?”

“Please, Momma...” Kahlan asked, opening her baby blue eyes and holding them wide. “Please...”

I smiled and nodded gently, amused by my young daughter's fascination with the strange people of the Wilds that rarely saw a Confessor.

“Close your eyes, Baby.”

She did, but popped them open almost instantly.

“Don't forget Brophy, Momma...”

I nodded again quietly.

“Close your eyes, Brophy,” I said, brushing my fingertips over my daughter's animal and making her giggle. “Now close your eyes, Love,” I said, brushing my too thin fingertips over her eyelids. I smoothed back her hair.

“Dark, dark brown... like the robins in the spring, or the earth, just when the roses are blooming...”

I smoothed my aching fingers through her curls as if painting it back with the thick mud that the wild folk favored.

“Dark blue... like the waters of ocean,” I continued, brushing my fingertips over her eyelids once more. “And then light blue... like cornflowers... like the Stone of Tears...” I whispered, caressing her cheeks and sliding a fingertip down the bridge of her nose. I painted light blue over her brow and down over her ears. I smoothed my hands down her chin and lightly over her throat.

“Purple,” I whispered as Kahlan drifted off to sleep and I traced the symbols of love and the Mother Confessor over her cheeks. “Destiny...” I murmured. “Oh, my little Kahlan, such a destiny I see for you... I wish I could be there. I wish I could guide you to it, Baby...”

“Momma...” Kahlan murmured in her sleep, reaching blindly for me.

“Oh Baby... I whispered, holding back tears and I pulled my sleeping daughter to myself. “Sweet dreams my dearest love...”


	16. In the Wayward Pine

**Title:** In the Wayward Pine  
 **Rating:** G

 

 **Theme:** Mother Confessors  
 **Genre:** General/Drama  
 **Characters:** Kahlan Amnell, Dennee Amnell (Dennee's POV)  
 **Timeline/Spoilers:** Kahlan's about age 16/Spoilers for "Listener"

 **Prompt:** Singing  
 **Word Count:** 607

 **Author's Notes:** This one's inspired by hearing Brigid sing in the show actually. *grin* I also had this image of Kahlan and Dennee just being regular girls for a moment in my head so I wondered what that might mean for Confessors.

Oh, and the song Kahlan sings is just one I wrote for her. [Here it is by itself](http://hr-musings.livejournal.com/87823.html)

  


* * *

I closed my eyes and leaned back against the warmth of the smooth granite boulder as my sister tucked her feet up underneath herself. And when I felt Kahlan drop a kiss and a faery crown on the top of my head, I smiled.

“What was that for?”

“Just for being you...” Kahlan replied contently and I laughed lightly.

“ _Oh, my wayward lad_ ,” she began to sing softly then, her young voice drifting lightly on the May breeze, as rich a perfume as any of the wildflowers that spilled over the meadow grass. “ _In the wayward pine... come back home, love... come back and be mine... Honey I have for you....and the sweetest wine... come back home, love... come back and be mine_ ,” my sister sang quietly. “ _Songs I have for you... to sing in the pine... come back home, love... come back and be mine..._ ”

Slowly, I opened my eyes.

“ _Oh, wayward lad... never more pine.... come thou home, love... and always be mine..._ ”

I reached for a nearby wildflower and idly plucked a petal loose.

“Do you ever wonder what it would be like?” I asked her quietly.

“Hmm?” Kahlan replied in a wistful sort of voice.

“Do you ever wonder what it would be like to be one of them...”

“One of them?”

“A normal girl...” I replied, plucking another petal from the blue flower in my hands and looking off into the distance.

“With a sweetheart...” Kahlan said softly.

I nodded quietly, plucking petals.

“Someone to love... someone that would love me...” my sister continued in an almost painfully wistful tone.

I reached for a new flower, contemplating the soft blue petals.

“Sometimes,” Kahlan admitted. “Sometimes I wonder what it would be like, but then...” she trailed off a bit sadly.

“It's not fair,” I said, trying and failing to keep a petulant note from my voice.

“It's not,” my sister agreed. “But it is what it is. We serve a higher purpose... a noble purpose... a greater good.”

I couldn't help but make a noise at that and then sighed when I felt Kahlan drop another kiss to the top of my head in sympathetic response.

“A higher purpose...” I echoed. “I'd rather have a sweetheart,” I complained.

Kahlan laughed, not unkindly. “And this sweetheart then, what would he be like?”

“Kind,” I replied promptly. “And handsome, and brave,” I added. “He would be generous and thoughtful. And he would love me no matter what,” I listed quickly enough that I knew my sister would realize that I had actually thought on it more than what might be considered wise.

But Kahlan surprised me by saying, “And children... there would be children...”

I heard her sigh.

“A boy and girl...” she whispered, her voice again turning painfully wistful.

“That would have his eyes,” I added.

“And that he would love completely,” my sister murmured.

We fell silent and I turned my attention once more to the wildflower in my hands. “He loves me, he loves me not, he loves me...” I chanted lightly after a moment.

“He loves me...” Kahlan echoed.

“He loves me not,” I completed the chant, plucking the last petal free.

" _Oh, my wayward lad..._ " my sister sang then softly, her voice drifting off to the far shadows of the meadow. “ _In the wayward pine... come back home, love... come back and be mine..._ ”

“Yes, Dennee, sometimes I wonder... sometimes really I do..." Kahlan whispered.


	17. I Will

**Title:** I Will  
 **Rating:** G

 

 **Theme:** Mother Confessors  
 **Genre:** General/Romance/Fluff  
 **Characters:** Kahlan and Dennee Amnell, Gwen (OC), Sister Lilianna (OC), Richard Cypher  
 **Timeline/Spoilers:** Kahlan's about 16 years old/Spoilers for "Listener"

 **Prompt:** Song Title (I Will - Alison Krauss)  
 **Word Count:** 1092

 **Author's Notes:** Just a little warning about sugar-shock... yup, this one fluffier than the fluffiest sheep. *grin*

  


* * *

 

“Shhh...” Kahlan whispered urgently to her sister and their giddy friend as the three half stumbled, half danced into a niche in the stone wall. “We'll be caught,” she warned them. “And _I_ for one, do not want to spend tomorrow cleaning the kitchens or the stables.”

Dennee and Gwen instantly sobered, trying to quiet not only their laughter, but the quiet dripping of their dresses as well. Their hands plucked quietly at the sodden garments in a hopeful, if somewhat useless gesture.

“Did anyone hear us?” Dennee whispered.

Kahlan looked cautiously out from the niche, her eyes straining slightly in the dimly lit stillness of the corridor. She ducked back into the shadows of the niche.

“There's no one there. We should go,” she replied.

The three girls slipped out into the corridor, almost painfully aware that they were leaving a trail of wet footprints that glimmered softly in the low light, and Kahlan cringed a little at the sound their wet slippers made on the cool stone floor.

“Would the Sisters really make us clean the stables?” Gwen asked worriedly.

“Or the kitchens?” Dennee asked back.

“Shhh...” Kahlan urged, pulling them back to the wall with her as a light flickered down the hallway. They waited in tense silence, hoping that whomever held the light down the corridor would turn right or left. Kahlan sighed when it became clear that that wasn't going to happen. She stepped forward, unconsciously shielding her sister and her friend.

“Kahlan...” Sister Lilianna said, coming to stand before the girls.

“Sister Lilianna,” Kahlan replied in a more dignified tone than any sixteen year old in wet slippers and a dripping gown should have been able to carry.

“I trust we're done with all of our excursions for the evening.”

“Yes, Sister.”

“And I trust that this one was well worth it?”

“That's not clear yet, Sister,” Kahlan replied.

Lilianna raised an eyebrow but otherwise made no reply. Kahlan stood steadily beneath her gaze.

“And you were the leader of this little excursion, yes?” The Sister asked finally.

“I was,” Kahlan replied over the objections of her sister and friend.

“Then I look forward to seeing you after morning devotions when we'll discuss the consequences of what being a leader might be.”

Kahlan nodded and began to walk away.

“Well, go on girls,” Lilianna encouraged the other two. “Kahlan is a fine example, and it would do well for you both to follow it.”

Confused, the two stumbled and then managed to catch up with Kahlan where she continued to pace down the corridor.

“What just happened?” Gwen asked uncertainly.

Dennee eyed her sister and replied, “I'm not sure. Kahlan?”

Kahlan squared her shoulders and walked on.

The other two shrugged and followed. They finally made it to their own chambers and entered almost solemnly. It lasted just as long as it took for them to change, when Gwen laughed, brandishing a small flower studded twig. Dennee laughed and produced her own trophy, the flowers losing pink petals on the floor as she did so.

“Where's yours, Kahlan?” She asked, turning to her sister.

Slowly, Kahlan produced her own twig, studying it critically.

“You two don't really think that this will work do you?”

Gwen shrugged. “It does no harm to try,” she replied.

“Remind me of that when I'm cleaning out the stables tomorrow,” Kahlan countered dryly.

“Oh, they won't make you do that, will they?” Dennee asked, suddenly concerned. Her eyes watered ever so slightly as she looked a her sister.

“I'm sure they won't,” Kahlan comforted.

“And if they do,” Gwen added. “Dennee and I will help.”

Dennee nodded earnestly and Kahlan smiled before asking, “Well, Gwen, this was your idea, what's next?”

Gwen smiled and dashed to her small trunk. From it, she produced three red ribbons that she waved in the air triumphantly. She handed one each to the other girls and kept one for herself.

“We're supposed to tie a red ribbon around the _li'assa_ twig. Then we put it under our pillows and that's it,” she explained with a small grin.

“That's it?” Kahlan asked, again eying her own twig dubiously. “And we dream of what's meant to be?”

“Our true destinies,” Gwen confirmed brightly.

Dennee giggled with anticipation and barely contained delight.

“From a twig...” Kahlan said slowly with a small smile.

“A _li'assa_ twig, gathered in the dusk and dew, on the eve of May,” Gwen half-chanted in a sing-song sort of voice before giggling a bit helplessly herself.

Kahlan shook her head little, but smiled and tied the red ribbon around her flowered twig carefully. She slipped it under her pillow and climbed into bed slowly, letting the sound of the rain lull her to sleep...

 

Gauzy white curtains billowed around her like clouds and Kahlan pushed her way through them, savoring the soft feeling of them brushing against her skin. She turned in circles, knowing that she was thoroughly lost, but surprisingly unconcerned.

“Kahlan...”

She titled her head, listening to the unfamiliar voice call her name.

“Come find me, Kahlan...”

She followed the sound.

“Kahlan...”

Someone grasped her hand gently. She didn't fight it, instead, she whirled, feeling the soft fabric brush against her face and the heat of the unfamiliar hand like something welcoming.

“Hello Kahlan...”

She startled a little to feel his breath... and it was _his_ breath... against her ear.

“Kahlan...” he whispered her name like a prayer or a soul deep magick.

“Hello...” she whispered back, turning to find herself in his arms. She met his dark eyes, and for the first time, felt lost. She reached her free hand up to brush his smooth cheek. “Hello, Richard...”

He smiled, and Kahlan suddenly felt as if she had been found. The whirl of sensation left her dizzy.

“My Richard...” she whispered.

He kissed her and she fell breathlessly into the caress.

“Come find me,” he breathed against her lips as the sound of bells filled the glowing room...

 

“I will...” she whispered as the sound of morning bells woke her. “I will...”

Kahlan sat up and reached for the small flowered twig beneath her pillow. She cradled it carefully in her hands and smiled a little, toying with the smooth red ribbon.

“Someday...”


	18. My Heart with You

**Title:** My Heart with You  
 **Rating:** PG; rated for mild language

 

 **Theme:** Mother Confessors  
 **Genre:** Drama/Romance/Angst  
 **Characters:** Kahlan Amnell/Richard Rahl  
 **Timeline/Spoilers:** During "Dark" spoilers for that episode and the "Palace of the Prophets" arc

 **Prompt:** Promise/Song Title (My Heart with You - The Rescues)  
 **Word Count:** 1087

 **Author's Notes:** Don't think there's really any for this one... just that it's kind of melodramatic romance... not everyone's cup 'o' tea... *grin*

  


* * *

Richard watched almost dispassionately as the fitful rain easily tore through the cherry blossoms above him. Already, several of the delicate blooms lay broken in the grass around his feet, victims of the rare spring shower. He supposed that there might have been a poem in the image, something Zedd, in his days as the _crazy chicken man_ , would have made into riddled verse; Richard could only bow his head and let the pink petals fall.

“We all fall down,” he murmured with the ghost of a breath before stepping back until the trunk of the tree became a solid presence behind him. Richard felt it brace him like a slender column and wished, almost violently, that it was a woman instead.

“Kahlan, I...”

But it was no use wishing, he was still alone in the twilight, the rain falling down as heedlessly on him as it did the cherry blossoms.

“Kahlan...” he breathed. “Damn it, Kahlan... I...”

Richard sank into a pained crouch, burying his face into his weary hands.

“Fall down without you,” he confessed, his voice muffled into near silence.

He suddenly felt a gentle hand quietly brushing petals from the wet strands of his hair, but didn't dare look up for fear of disrupting the impossible moment. Instead, he removed his hands from his face and settled them on his knees. Quietly, he breathed in the unexpectedly sweet scent of rain, cherry blossoms, and... _her_.

 _Her_...

Richard closed his eyes and willed the moment to be more than real, he willed it to be _true_.

“I'm right here...”

Petals fell before his eyes and the Seeker finally dared to look up, watching as Kahlan released the gathered fragments of the flowers from her fingertips.

“Kahlan..” It was more than a prayer or spell, it was his was soul recognizing his heart. “Kahlan...”

“Oh my, Richard,” she said softly, reaching out a hand to gently chase a raindrop down Richard's cheek. He closed his eyes, savoring the nearly overwhelming sensation.

“Kahlan...”

“Oh, my darling Richard,” she nearly whispered.

After only a moment's hesitation, Richard reached out, bringing the Mother Confessor into the circle of his arms and holding her in an embrace that was almost a shade too tight.

“Richard...” she breathed.

His embrace eased ever so slightly, hesitant to let go even that much.

“I miss you...” Richard whispered into the warmth of her neck, the sound muffled as his lips brushed against her skin.

“Me too...” she breathed into his ear. “Me too, Richard...”

“I don't know if I can do this without you,” he confessed quietly.

“Oh, Richard...” Kahlan sighed.

“You're my strength, Kahlan... my only true strength... my only truth...”

“Richard...” Gently, she slid her hands up to cradle his head. With an inexorable gentleness, she forced his dark eyes to look into her own.

“You're not here with me, and I'm falling down without you,” he asserted in the same sort of rough whisper. “I need you with me.”

“I know, Richard...” she whispered. “I know.”

“I should never have left you... I should never have come here,” he declared painfully.

Kahlan gave him a sad, soft smile in response before brushing her lips lightly against his, the sensation tantalizing in its sweetness, like a cherry blossom caressing his skin.

“How do I do this? How do I get back to you?” He murmured against her lips.

“You'll find a way,” she whispered in reply, her breath warm in his own as it slipped from her lips to his.

Richard pulled back a little and met Kahlan's star blue eyes, his own so charged with emotion that they were nearly black with it.

“How?” He asked, his voice warm like a slow burning ambrosia, rough and almost angry. “I don't know how, Kahlan.”

“Richard...”

He buried his face in the curve of her neck once more, and Kahlan let her fingers brush through his wet hair, the strands clinging to her fingertips as she did so.

“You'll find a way,” she repeated. “You always find a way ...”

She looked through cherry blossoms and rain to see the first silver hints of night bringing starlight winds and scattering the storm. “Richard, I...”

“Don't,” He breathed against her skin, his voice muffled in its warmth. He clung to her hopelessly, pulling her as close as he possibly could, as if sheer will alone could keep her with him. “Don't go.”

“I'm not really here,” she whispered gently.

“Kahlan...”

“But I _am_ waiting for you, Richard,” she whispered, bringing his gaze back up her own. “I'd wait forever for you.”

Kahlan smiled softly, cradling his head in her hands.

“And if I have to,” she assured him. “ _I'll_ find you.”

She brushed her lips ever so softly against his before whispering against them.

“We'll find each other... I'm your Confessor; you're my Seeker... we will be together again, I promise. Richard...”

Richard interrupted Kahlan's whisper with a kiss that couldn't have been any more fervent had he been somehow confessed.

“You'll find a way,” Kahlan assured him once more with an almost giddy breath when they finally parted. Richard smiled a bit wryly and rested his forehead against hers.

“I will,” he murmured. “I have to.”

The Confessor smiled brilliantly.

“I know.”

Her smile faded just a touch as she lifted her forehead from his and stepped back a little. “You need to go now,” she whispered, looking toward the pale moonlight seeping through the misty blue air. She kissed him once, softly.

“Kahlan...”

“You said that I'm you're only truth,” she said, giving him a gentle grin. “You are the Seeker of Truth... come back and find me.”

“I will,” he promised her.

She smiled once again, even more brightly if that were possible, and disappeared into a rain of cherry blossoms. Richard reached out deftly and captured one between his fingers before tucking it carefully into an inner pocket of his leather vest.

“I will find a way,” he whispered, before stepping back into the shadows of the temple...

 

 _“I know...” Kahlan murmured as she woke suddenly, brushing cherry petals from her hair and shifting the Sword of Truth against her hip. “I know, my Richard...”_


	19. I am a Pilgrim on this Journey

**Title:** I am a Pilgrim on this Journey  
 **Rating:** NC-17; rated for sexual content(though it doesn't go as far as it might- rated so as to be safer than sorry)

 

 **Theme:** Mother Confessors  
 **Genre:** Romance/Smut  
 **Characters:** Kahlan/Richard  
 **Timeline/Spoilers:** After the series finale/spoilers for finale and book-map

 **Prompt:** Landscape/Scenery/Map  
 **Word Count:** 592

 **Author's Notes:** So yeah, let's just say I have this _thing_ for freckles. *grin* This is... well... it is smut, so let's not expect poetry, 'kay. *wry grin*

  


* * *

Gently, Richard pushed the smooth ivory sheet away from Kahlan's hip, baring it, and the length of her left leg to the cool spring light filtering in through the white draped window.

Richard...” the Mother Confessor said with a small laugh, tugging lightly on the sheet, trying to pull it back over herself.

“Mmmm...?”

Richard playfully brushed the sheet back and softly kissed her on the inside of her knee.

“Richard...”

He smiled and trailed lingering fingers up her leg before tenderly kissing another spot on her hip.

“King's Port...” he murmured softly against the warmth of her skin.

Kahlan laughed lightly.

“Richard, what are you doing?”

His answer was to smile once more, his lips curving slowly against the hollow of her hip. He pushed away more of the sheet and then, again, he let his hand drift upward. He trailed his fingertips up until he reached the soft swell of her breast. He tickled his fingers there a moment before brushing his lips against a dusky freckle.

“Southhaven...” Richard whispered.

Kahlan shivered.

“Richard...” she sighed softly.

He smiled and trailed his fingertips up around her breast.

“Richard... what are you doing?” Kahlan asked again.

He kissed a small, sweet spot above her heartbeat, letting his tongue flick the dusky freckle there.

“Hartland...” he whispered, clearly pleased to feel his lover shiver as his breath brushed over her skin. Then he slowly drew the sheet downward.

“Richard...”

He placed a kiss in the warm hollow of her throat.

“Nicobarese...” he murmured softly, tilting his eyes up with a mischievous sort of gleam.

“Nicobarese?”

“This one's Nicobarese,” he confirmed and Kahlan laughed lightly. “And here...” he whispered, half leaning over her to nuzzle her neck tenderly. “This one here,” he whispered against her skin. “This freckle would be Aydindril.”

Kahlan sighed softly, shivering and laughing shakily.

“Where else...” she asked, a laugh still in her voice. “Where else could you go, Seeker?”

“Well...” Richard drawled, carefully moving to brace himself above her. He tripped his fingertips lower, smiling. He traced her nipple playfully before slipping down and placing a tender kiss on a dusky freckle that graced the soft skin there.

“Perhaps Galea...”

Kahlan gasped.

“Perhaps Galea... right here...” Richard murmured, taking her nipple in his mouth.

She moaned.

“Or even...” he breathed over her damp skin before sliding further down her body and pushing the tangled sheet free to fall to the floor. “Even Renwold,” he said softly, kissing another freckle on her right hip. “But of course...” he drawled, titling his darkened eyes up. “There is one place that I would really like to visit...”

“Oh?” Kahlan half-asked, half sighed.

“Very much,” the Seeker teased, letting his fingers drift to a spot low on her belly, then lower, and lower still, until the Mother Confessor gasped and arched up into his touch. “I think I would like...” he drawled, sliding down to kiss a freckle on her belly. “To visit...”

Richard kissed another freckle just a bit lower.

“The Wilds,” he murmured playfully, kissing yet another perfect freckle. “Do you think I should?” He asked lightly.

“Oh yes,” Kahlan half-gasped, half laughed. “Yes I do...”

“As you wish,” Richard whispered with a smile. “Anything you wish... I'll do anything for you, Kahlan,” he vowed sincerely. “Anything,” he whispered, following his journey to the desired destination...


	20. Once Upon a Time

**Title:** Once Upon a Time  
 **Rating:** G

 

 **Theme:** Mother Confessors  
 **Genre:** General/Drama  
 **Characters:** Original Characters, mention of Canon characters  
 **Timeline/Spoilers:** After the series

 **Prompt:** Song Title (Music Box - Mariah Carey)  
 **Word Count:** 513

 **Author's Notes:** So this one takes place after the series, but it exists in the world that the series created and not that of the bookverse.

  


* * *

Rachel clambered eagerly up into her mother's lap and settled herself comfortably there. She reached easily for the trailing sleeves of Isabeau's dress and smoothed them over her own lap with a familiarity that spoke of long cherished practice.

“Momma, what's that; magic?” She asked, reaching curious hands to the small object in her mother's hands.

Isabeau smiled and rewound the small music box carefully before placing it gently in her daughter's small fingers.

“I used to think so,” the Mother Confessor admitted, still with a quiet smile in her voice. “It was your grandmother's,” she explained as the box played its quiet tune. “Your grandfather Richard had it made for her when I was born.”

“Pretty,” the young girl said, admiring the muted shimmer and shine of it as she hummed along with the tune happily.

“Yes,” Isabeau agreed simply, dropping a kiss to the top of her daughter's head and smiling once more.

Rachel ran a small finger over the unfamiliar symbols and shapes that ran in circles around the inside of unusual compass shaped music box.

“What are these?” She asked, her fingertips lingering on her favorite shapes, smoothing over them with delight.

“My mother said that they told a story, a special story about her and my father... and me...” Isabeau replied. “And now you too.”

“Me?” Rachel asked with bright curiosity.

“You,” Isabeau confirmed.

“What does it say? What's the story?” The Mother Confessor's young daughter asked excitedly.

“Love...” Isabeau replied simply, saying nothing more.

Rachel titled her head back to look up at her mother, a curious, almost disappointed look in her cinnamon brown eyes.

“Love... that's it?” She asked with all the stubborn bluntness that only a seven year old could possess. “Momma, stories are suppose to begin with, _once upon a time_ , and end with, _happily ever after_ ,” Rachel explained with a tone that suggested that it was something that everyone should know.

Isabeau laughed lightly.

“That's what I told your grandmother.”

Rachel titled her head back down to consider the music box in her hands. Her mother dropped another quick kiss on her golden brown curls. She reached for the music box and wound it up gently before once more placing it back in her daughter's hands.

“Your grandmother told me that the story was about love, and that it was one that I already knew, by heart. And she told me that everyday of my life added a page to that story.”

“But that's not a proper story at all,” Rachel grumped before holding the music box up to be rewound once more. For a moment, they both listened to the familiar tune, one that Isabeau often sang to Rachel as she put her to sleep.

Then Isabeau smiled above her daughter's head.

“Once upon a time,” she said softly, feeling Rachel's delight as the child bounced in her lap a little. “Once upon a time there was a young man named Richard...”


End file.
